But the latter is the least trusted because the imagination can run wild. We were horrified by the aftermath and life loss, but in those first days after, so much of what seemed so senseless was a mystery to us, and that was also scary.īoth the known and the unknown of dangers are alarming. There is a worry in the air that I’ve not felt in this county since the days immediately following the 9/11 terrorist attacks. One that is capable of floating in the air or lingering to the touch. We live amid a food producing agriculture belt.īut now comes an enemy so tiny we cannot see it without a powerful microscope. The Missouri River and various underground aquifers mean that unlike much of the world we’re unlikely to run short of water. Now, we figure we’ve got the defensive capability to shoot those down over the oceans, and our foes have economic reasons not to fire them.
SIREN SOUNDS HOW TO
I’m old enough to be of the generation that, during our grade school years, we watched films teaching us how to assume defensive positions under our desks if sirens sounded warning of incoming nuclear missiles. Fear of foreign invasion, no not much, we’re protected on all sides by geography. We feel so secure about so many things in Platte County. And I worry that beyond these early days a challenging weariness will arrive. They are siren sounds we are not used to hearing.
My hope is that in a few months we’re all relieved that COVID-19 didn’t match the warnings in our communities. But after the flood’s headlines died, many flood victims still suffered. Those living in the river valleys gritted their teeth and moved forward.
We could hear the rain and see the water. How do we stay close with friends and neighbors when we’re urged to stay physically apart? The COVID-19 coronavirus is darkening our thoughts and changing our daily paths.
The challenge is before us, even if we do live in the relative safety of Platte County.
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